


Prick

by starscrearn



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Needles, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 03:43:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15525285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starscrearn/pseuds/starscrearn
Summary: Swerve's been putting off his maintenance checks again, and not because he's afraid of Ratchet.





	Prick

**Author's Note:**

> written for underyourhouse on tumblr! thanks for the request <3

“So then he turns to me and says--” Swerve’s commsuite pinged. He paused when the message registered, but when he read the sender’s name, he froze entirely. It was from Ratchet, which meant it could only be about one thing: the medic had realized he’d been ducking his appointments.

“Hello, Lost Light to Swerve.” Tailgate leaned forward and waved a hand in front of his face. “What’s up with you? It’s not like you to just stop talking.”

His helm jerked back up. “Uh? It’s, it’s nothing, Ratchet just wants me in the medibay like… about a week ago.”

The blue mini’s visor curved in his approximation of a wide grin that, to Swerve, looked entirely too smug. “Putting off maintenance again, huh?” He shook his head. “You’re a real sparkling sometimes, you know that? C’mon, I’ll walk with you.”

“Walk with-- you mean… to  _ Ratchet?” _

“Where else?” He grabbed for Swerve’s wrist and started to drag him out of the bar. 

“But I’ve got-- I’ve got a shift--” he tried, gesturing uselessly over his shoulder as Tailgate gave him another tug.

“Yeah, in three hours! Ratchet’ll be done with you  _ way _ before that. C’mon, you’ll feel better if you get it over with.”

“Maybe so, but that means I’ll have to do it!” he protested, ineffectually trying to pull his arm away.

Tailgate laughed. “You’re worse than me! Don’t be such a scaredy-bot, it’s just Ratchet.”

Swerve whined out some static. “It’s not Ratchet I’m afraid of, it’s what he’s gonna do! Y’know, if you were a real friend, you’d be helping me duck him.”

“Are you kidding? He’d kill both of us.” He gave him a little push. “Now let’s get going!”

Swerve dragged his heels the whole way there, much to Tailgate’s growing amusement. His legs locked up entirely when they hit the hall outside the medibay.

“Maybe… maybe he won’t be there?” Swerve suggested weakly.

The blue mini shrugged. “You won’t know unless you go and check.”

“Or you could go look,” he countered, shooting him what he hoped was a winning grin.

“Oh no,” Tailgate laughed. “You’re not getting out of it that easily. You’re the one he called, not me.  _ You _ go check.”

With a little push, Swerve began to edge his way down the hall, which seemed both way too long and way too short, and far before he would have liked to, he ended up in front of the medibay. He reached out with a shaky hand and palmed the door open, revealing that Ratchet was very much present. Even worse, the big medic heard his arrival and immediately turned. 

Ratchet glanced over Swerve’s shoulder to Tailgate, shrugged, and looked back to the bartender. “Nice of you to finally turn up,” he remarked. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how long overdue this is.”

He shuffled in, fiddling with his hands, helm low. “Yeah, no, I-I know.” 

“Well, no need to waste any more time. Hop on up and we’ll get started.”

Swerve took a seat on the indicated berth as Tailgate claimed a chair in the little waiting area. He flashed the bartender a thumbs-up when he noticed him looking.

_ ‘Yeah, right!’  _ he mouthed back.

Tailgate just shrugged, arms falling open in a universal “well, what else do you want me to do?” gesture. Ratchet stepped forward with Swerve’s chart in hand and started to pull the privacy curtain shut.

Swerve jolted. “No, no, no, it’s fine! You can leave it open.”

The medic shrugged one shoulder. “Suit yourself. I just need to run a few scans. Won’t take long.”

He twisted his hands together in his lap to keep them from trembling as he felt the gentle brush of the first sweep wash over his frame.  _ Just a scan, Swerve, _ he reminded himself.  _ Just a scan, nothing to panic about. Doesn’t even hurt! Don’t be a sparkling... _

Ratchet finished up while Swerve was worrying away at himself. “And we’re done. Everything looks to be within normal parameters, though I’d recommend a little more time off your feet. You’re showing more stress on your ankle joints than I’d like.” He glanced back up and frowned. “It’s not bad news, you know. No need to be so jittery. Unless there’s something else?”

Swerve grinned instinctively, wide and wobbly. “Oh, nothing, just… worried you’re gonna give me a shot! Heh…”

“Well, that  _ was _ the purpose of this visit. You’ve only been in to see me once since we left Cybertron, and your medical attendance before that could be generously described as ‘spotty.’”

“Maybe I’m just good at not getting sick?” he tried.

“No, you’re good at avoiding medics.” Ratchet sighed. “You’re behind on three different boosters, which is why I’ve been after you for so long. So yeah, I am unfortunately going to have to give you a shot.”

Later, Tailgate would swear that Swerve had tried to run right then and there, while Swerve would vehemently maintain that he hadn’t been  _ airborne  _ at any point, as Tailgate insisted, and that he’d just flinched. Er, hard.

What actually happened was that Ratchet had to throw out an arm, catching the minibot around the middle and hoisting him back onto the berth, while Tailgate nearly fell out of his chair laughing behind them.

Ratchet fixed the bartender with a Look. Swerve offered a wavering smile in response, face burning.

“Like I was  _ trying _ to say, it won’t take long, and if you hold still and let me get it over with, it won’t hurt, either.”

“I feel like you’re lying to me,” he blurted out. “I feel like if you turn around, you’re gonna be crossing your fingers behind your back.”

_ “Swerve.” _ Ratchet gestured with both hands, which were plainly in view.

“My point still stands!”

He sighed. “Are you going to let me do this, or am I going to need to call First Aid to hold you down?”

Well aware of Tailgate’s continued snickering, Swerve quickly shook his helm. “Nope! Nope, that’s-- that’s fine, I’m good!”

“Thank you. I’ll be right back with the boosters, so--” Ratchet wagged a finger at him. “Don’t think of trying to run off again.”

He disappeared into the back room, leaving Swerve glaring at Tailgate.

“Do you have to laugh so hard?”

The blue mini reset his vocalizer with some difficulty. “You have to admit, that was pretty funny. I didn’t know Ratchet could  _ move _ like that--”

Swerve glanced over his shoulder, watching for the medic’s return. “It was  _ not _ funny,” he hissed. “I am about to be in pain, and  _ you’re _ laughing!”

“Okay, okay, I promise I won’t laugh anymore.” Tailgate’s visor tipped, betraying his continued amusement. “But I still can’t believe you tried to  _ run away--” _

“I did not! And if you tell anyone, I’ll tell Cyclonus you’ve got a crush on him!”

“Don’t worry, my lips are sealed.”

“You don’t even have lips,” Swerve muttered.

Before Tailgate could respond, Ratchet returned, bearing a small tray with three syringes, a small bottle of disinfectant, a cloth pad, and a metalmesh patch. 

The bartender eyed the needles warily. “Do they really have to be that big?”

“Standard size, Swerve,” the medic replied. “And the needle itself is smaller than the casing.” He set the tray down and scooped up the bottle and the cloth. “Hold out your arm, please.”

“Which one?”

“Either. I just need your elbow joint.”

Swerve extended a shaky arm and flipped it over. Ratchet wetted the pad and swiped it over the joint.

“I’m just going to do these one after the other. Won’t take five minutes. Try not to tense your arm too much.” Ratchet steadied his arm and reached for the first needle, carefully sliding the cap off. The instant it came close to him, Swerve grabbed for the medic’s wrist, trying to stop it from getting any closer. Ratchet patiently shook him off and shifted, wedging the minibot’s elbow over his own forearm, giving him a hand free to catch Swerve’s trembling hand. The medic eyed their interlocked arms. “This will only work if you don’t punch me.”

“Why would--” He reset his vocalizer and tried again. “Why would I punch you? You’re about to stick me with a  _ needle _ and-- oh Primus, just hurry up and do it!”

“It’s happened before.” He paused. “Helps if you don’t watch, by the way. Look over at Tailgate or something.”

When Swerve glanced over, Tailgate was somehow managing to give him the smuggest grin he’d ever seen on someone without a mouth, and that included the time Whirl had gotten absolutely plastered, started a fight, and dodged around Ultra Magnus three times before passing out on a table. The grin in the copter’s flickering optic didn’t come anywhere  _ near _ the look on Tailgate’s face right then. Swerve fixed his gaze on the ceiling.

“You’re going to feel a slight prick--”

“Hey, Doc?” he managed, ignoring the cleanser beading up under the edges of his visor. “Don’t tell me. Just do it.”

“Alright.”

Swerve yelped, arm trembling. 

Ratchet set down the first needle. “Doing great, Swerve. Two more.”

He bit his lip. The trembling got a lot more pronounced.

“Just one left.”

By the time Ratchet reached for the patch, Swerve felt like he was on the verge of blacking out. The medic pressed the patch into the inside of his elbow, waited for it to meld over his lines, and stepped back.

“See, that wasn’t so bad. You’re all done.”

“Um, excuse you.” Swerve forced his optics back online and shot the medic an accusatory stare. “That was  _ awful _ and my arm  _ hurts.” _ He must have been a lot more panicked than he thought, because there was surely no other excuse for why the words that escaped him next were, “Kiss it better?”

Ratchet rolled his optics and kissed the tips of two fingers before pressed them against the patch. “Happy?”

He groaned. “No, now I’m just embarrassed!”

“Well, you’re done, so…” He waved towards the door. “You’re free to go.” 

As Swerve pushed himself off the berth and onto extremely shaky legs, Ratchet turned to Tailgate. “Thanks for coming down.”

The blue mini hopped up. “Oh yeah, no problem! Always happy to drag poor Swerve in here for maintenance--”

“No, I mean for your own check. You’re next on my list.”

He stalled. “I’m what?”

Swerve grinned as he got closer, and turned to give him a little push towards the medic. “Go on, don’t be such a scaredy-bot! It’s not that bad.”

Tailgate shot him a pleading look over his shoulder.

Ratchet patted the medberth. “Come on, you’re already here. Don’t make me chase you down too.”

The bartender saw his shoulders tilt in, but before Tailgate could completely transform, he spun him around and tried to tug him back. The blue mini toppled, halfway into his alt mode, against an extremely chagrined Swerve. 

Ratchet sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “First Aid, get in here and give me a hand!”


End file.
